Is That What You Call Tact
by frakkingblerg
Summary: Prompt: something inspired by Brand New


Prompt: something inspired by Brand New

Medium Angst Warning, if that's a thing?

_"Is that what you call tact? You're as subtle as a brick in the small of my back – so lets end this call and end this conversation."_

Brenda furiously dug through her candy drawer, hand searching for that elusive foil wrapper - cursing herself for forgetting, once again, to stop at the store for a restock (and perhaps some substantial food as well). Recently she hadn't felt like doing much shopping, or anything else even remotely productive for that matter. Making it through the day without completely breaking down or shooting a member of her squad had become her main priority, everything else falling to the wayside. As she glanced out the windows into the murder room, she felt another sob threatening to bubble up. Bolting toward the blinds, she managed to close them in a few swift motions before allowing the tears to fall. Leave it to that terrible, horrible, infuriating woman to come in here with perfectly coifed hair, matching heels, and stunningly tailored suit and refuse to admit how horribly wrong things had gone.

For the most part, Sharon fancied herself a religious woman. Not in the bible thumping, go to church every Sunday, try to convert any person you meet to Catholicism kind of way. Mostly she liked to think that everything happened for a reason, that the big guy (or girl) upstairs watched out for you, never gave you more than you could handle. Currently, however, she couldn't imagine much more bullshit being heaped upon her shoulders without crumbling, breaking into a million pieces over the hell that'd become her life. Even going through the motions, putting on her best Captain Raydor smirk couldn't soothe the gnawing ache settling in her chest. Perhaps this was penance, some sort of retribution for the previous six months of pure joy. This investigation, no matter how open and shut it appeared, would be the death of her. If Brenda Leigh didn't calm down, back off just a little, the brunette was incredibly sure she'd find herself squarely in the middle of an OIS investigation – she'd kill to take a couple of pot shots in the Chief's general direction (not at her, of course), just to shut her up. Or maybe she'd grab her face, throw caution to the wind and kiss her senseless. At this point, either seemed a viable option if things continued to fall apart.

For the better part of a year, neither woman would've imagined they'd find themselves so squarely at odds, returning to their hostile, combative conversations and sour demeanors during yet another 'shared' investigation. Things had been relatively perfect between the two. After a few months of friendship, they'd slowly progressed into casual dating and soon after, a full-blown relationship. There had been a few bumps along the way, mostly due to the Chief's selfish nature, but nothing that couldn't be fixed with a stern talk from Sharon and a few mutual orgasms. The honeymoon period had come and gone, reality finally settling into their predominately blissful life. That Monday, two weeks prior, had started like many before. One shared shower (Brenda constantly reminded the other woman that this communal activity, in fact, saved water and the environment), a light breakfast, and they'd been out the door. Pulling into their usual spots, Brenda's phone had rung first, alerting her of the gang shooting that'd just occurred somewhere on Sunset. Almost immediately after the Captain's Blackberry had taken off, an officer had been involved. Figuring they could once again save the environment, and maybe steal a few kisses, they'd agreed to carpool to the scene. After close to a year of dating, it wouldn't be a surprise to either squad; they'd hosted a barbeque a few months earlier to gently break the news to everyone in Major Crimes & FID – figuring things would go exponentially better once their boys and girls had been adequately liquored up.

Preliminary findings indicated shots had begun between a group of Bloods who'd stumbled into Crips territory – creating a domino effect that'd ended with 7 gang members and 2 officers dead. It'd been hard to tell when and why the LAPD officers had gotten involved, something the Captain couldn't help but find mildly suspicious. Brenda had assured her Lt. Tao would be more than able to answer all her burning questions once she'd closed the case. Against her better judgment, Sharon had defaulted to the younger woman, allowing her a few hours of uninterrupted time to investigate. When things weren't progressing as quickly as anticipated, the brunette had stepped in, demanding answers as her 72-hour window began to inevitably shrink.

Looking back, Sharon could admit that perhaps she'd been a little aggressive and not very sensitive to how much work it'd taken to interview so many witnesses and additional suspects – especially considering no one was willing to say anything to a police officer when it came to a gang shooting. And maybe the blonde could have taken a moment to put herself in the older woman's shoes. After all, she did have a very small period of time to report her finding to the Inspector General and she'd even given a few of her FID team members as additional resources to close the case. All in all, mistakes had been made and in the heat of the moment, their tempers had gotten the best of both women.

Almost 20 hours after that first phone call, Pope had ordered them to go home. Everyone's exhaustion and sour attitudes weren't closing either case any faster and he'd had enough running mediation between the two squads. Mid Reese's cup, feeling rather giddy from the sugar currently coursing through her bloodstream, Brenda had offered to take the brunette home. They'd both need to be back relatively soon and a quick nap curled into the Captain's body sounded like the perfect end to a shitty day. Unfortunately as soon as Brenda pulled that silver Crown Vic out on the highway, the bickering began. Sharon couldn't understand why she'd made things so difficult, the blonde retorting furiously regarding the older woman's inability to trust her. They'd fought continually for the 20-minute drive. As the brunette huffed and slammed the passenger door closed, Brenda peeled out of the driveway and high tailed it back to her own apartment. It'd been two weeks since then – no calls, no texts, nothing. Well one call, sort of. Both found themselves back to exactly where they'd started, the occasional head nod, a pursing of the lips, every so often acknowledging that the other existed.

That first week Sharon buried herself in back paperwork, volunteering, basically anything to keep her mind off the empty bed she came home to and the Blackberry that no longer seemed to ring. Soon things were a little easier…maybe not easier, but the pain became more manageable. She began to feel that this had been for the best. Her first official, newly single Saturday was spent cleaning out the kitchen, disposing of all the processed sugary treats that'd come with dating the blonde. After almost an hour, she'd rid herself of all traces of the Chief ever spending time there. Practically bursting with renewed energy, she'd tackled the closet next, boxing up all those ostentatious floral skirts and oversized LAPD sweatpants Brenda was incredibly fond of. Once she'd effectively removed the blonde from her home, she couldn't help but notice her lack of tears. They'd been practically inseparable for months, so this emotional detachment seemed rather odd. Chalking it up to her age and general jaded attitude toward relationships after so much abject failure, she headed out the door for a mid-evening run.

Brenda hadn't needed to create distractions, the summer heat had caused more than it's fair share of murders and she'd been legitimately swamped through Sunday evening. Against her better judgment, she'd agreed to meet Fritz for a late dinner – he'd claimed they'd needed to discuss Joel's most recent vet visit. If the blonde was being honest, she'd known he'd try to throw himself at her, attempt to reconcile. And she needed that, to feel like she was still desirable, especially considering Sharon seemed to have no interest in fixing things between them. And she was certainly not going to make the first move, not after that incredibly ridiculous display that previous Monday. Just as Fritz was listing off the sixtieth reason why they should try again, the blonde heard her phone ring.

"Sorry Fritzie, I just need to see if this is from work – " she apologized and glanced down, surprised by the name flashing across the screen. Motioning to Fritz to quiet down, taking a deep breath, she pressed the green button.

"Chief Johnson," clipped the blonde, attempting to sound as cold and disconnected as possible.

"Brenda, oh hey…I just, well, I was calling because I've been thinking about us and…" Sharon was fighting back the tears; she wasn't prepared for the younger woman to answer. She'd almost expected to be sent straight to voicemail, giving her the opportunity to read the speech she'd so thoroughly prepared. While Saturday had gone off without a hitch, the shock of their lack of communication and possible breakup had settled in Sunday afternoon. Even after a 6 mile run, she'd felt no better and desperately needed to hear the Chief's voice. So she'd starting writing, writing all the things she'd realized, what she'd hoped to change, how they could make this better. After some serious tweaking and editing, she'd finally felt ready to share her discoveries, fears, and desires with Brenda (well, her voicemail at least). What she hadn't anticipated was the blonde actually picking up, throwing her into a tailspin.

"Brenda, didn't you just get off work? What could your team possibly need," Fritz complained, idly twirling his straw.

Sharon froze. She was with Fritz? The brunette's heart betrayed her and she let out an audible sob, unable to hold back how crushed she felt at the revelation.

"Sharon wait, stop, it's not what you think…"

"It doesn't matter, Chief," whispered the brunette, slowly pulling herself together. There would be plenty of time to mourn this recent development and the dissolution of their relationship, she needed to compose herself and get through these next few moments. "You've made your choice, Brenda Leigh, now let me make mine. It's over. Don't even think about trying to contact me, I won't hesitate to call Professional Standards. I hope you have a nice life, Chief, and tell Agent Howard I said hello." Sharon managed to get everything out in one breath and immediately hung up, dropping to her knees and allowing the sobs to wrack through her. Burying her head in her hands, she couldn't help feeling incredibly stupid; believing the blonde would pick her over normal, comfortable, heterosexual bliss with Fritz. All those shared moments, however real they'd seemed at the time, had been nothing but a lie. Brenda hadn't cared about her, she'd needed someone to fill the void during Fritz's departure. And now they were working it out, settling back into their husband and wife routine with ease – leaving Sharon high and dry. Not to mention, completely heartbroken, and unable to move beyond the floor of her bedroom.

Brenda's mind was racing, in a few short seconds this day had turned from almost bearable to an absolutely nightmare. As much as she'd wanted to drive over to the brunette's house, attempt to explain herself and demand that the older woman listen, she couldn't. If getting to know the Captain over these last few years had taught her anything, you did not mess with an angry Sharon Raydor. She wouldn't think twice to make your personal and professional life absolute hell. So she'd settle with getting out of this restaurant, hitting up the local ice cream shop, and ingesting enough sugar and alcohol to knock out a horse or put her in a diabetic coma.

"Fritz, I have to go," announced the blonde, gathering her things and practically tripping toward the door.

"Brenda, wait – where are you going? I thought we could keep talking about us, see where things could go…"

"No Fritz, no. We are not gettin' back together, ever. I'm sorry I even agreed to come here with you. I really have to go." Brenda left, ignoring the man's pleas for her to stay; listen to how he'd change, how he'd do better. There was no way they'd ever work, she couldn't lie to him anymore, lead him on when she felt vulnerable. She'd fallen for Sharon and, there was no point denying that everyone else paled in comparison. The blonde cried herself to sleep that night, finally admitting they were over and there wasn't a way to repair the damage she'd done.

The following week had been hell on both women and their teams, between the onslaught of shootings in LA and their sour dispositions. The Captain, for the most part, was able to assume her work persona and put her personal life on the back-burner. Only occasionally taking her terrible mood out on a subordinate or suspicious officer. Brenda, however, was self-medicating with sugar, attempting not to bite Gabriel's head off for simply existing. The guys had urged Flynn to approach the Chief, ask her what was going on, mostly to save David from the constant beratement, but he'd been unsuccessful.

Around 5am Friday morning, Brenda's phone rang. Cursing herself for deciding to cap off the night with a bottle of Merlot, since she'd no doubt be hungover for the better part of the morning, she grabbed her phone off the bureau and quickly answered.

"Just send me the address, Gabriel. I'll put it in the Google," the Chief sighed, running her fingers through tangled curls.

40 minutes later, Sharon was sipping rather horrible coffee from the gas station down the street and surveying the crime scene in front of her, attempting to corroborate the statement she'd just received from Officer Harmen. The light clicking of heels and southern drawl brought her out of concentration, of course she'd be here.

"Cap'n Raydor, I've just spoken to Chief Pope and I'm gonna need you to move this red tape just a little to the left so we can…"

"Chief Johnson, always a pleasure, even at 6am. Unfortunately, and I'm sure I don't need to remind you, I've got 72 hours and Chief Pope has no legal right to shut my investigation down," huffed the older woman, steadying her stance and giving the blonde a challenging glare.

"Well if that's how you're gonna play Cap'n, I guess I'll see you downtown." Brenda turned on a kitten heel and sulked back toward her car. Two could play at this game.

Three hours later, Flynn was mentally debating why he'd agreed to come in early. Well come in at all actually once he'd heard they were sharing another investigation with FID. LAPD rumor mill had been buzzing with a possible break up between Captain Raydor and his boss. If their current fighting was any indication, he'd bet it'd been pretty nasty. Honestly, he was tired of playing middleman between them – both were acting more like children than actual police officer. And to make matters even worse, he found himself almost siding with Raydor. While she wasn't being particularly helpful (although when was she ever), the Chief was throwing a full on temper tantrum. Demanding the Captain be barred from her murder room until further notice, effectively stopping any evidence from being brought down from FID.

"Alright, let's all calm down," Flynn yelled over the two women who were now centimeters away from each other's faces, practically fuming, daring the other to back down. If he didn't know any better, he'd swear they were close to blows.

"Cap'n Raydor, in my office," growled the blonde, stamping her foot and motioning toward the door.

"I'm not sure that's necessary Chief. Whatever you need to say, I'm sure you can say it here…" The older woman wasn't about to let this tantrum continue. She'd be out Major Crimes' hair once she'd secured the necessary paperwork. Why Brenda currently felt the need to act like a petulant child was beyond her comprehension. There was no reason they couldn't act like professionals, at least during regular business hours.

"Alright, we'll try this again," Brenda hissed. "I'm orderin' you in my office, now."

Sharon rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated huff before turning on her Manolo's, clipping behind the Chief into the smaller room. Once the door was firmly shut and blinds were drawn, she couldn't help but allow the anger to surface.

"What the fuck is your problem, Brenda? I don't understand why you can't just have Tao print off the paperwork and I'll be on my way." Sharon looked down, rubbing furiously at her temple to stave off the rapidly forming headache.

"We need to talk," the blonde interrupted, using all the self-control she could muster not to fling herself into the older woman's arms and beg for forgiveness.

"We're at work, this isn't really the time or the place. And I was more than clear with you on Sunday night about exactly where we stood, personally. So if this talk is pertaining to that subject, I won't think twice to call Professional Standards and report you for harassment."

"You don't mean that, Shar."

The blonde was right, she wouldn't report her - she'd threaten, hoping Brenda would believe her, give her the space she so desperately needed to move on. But jeopardizing the Chief's professional reputation wasn't something that'd ever actually crossed her mind.

"What do you want me to say, Brenda? I'm sorry? I miss you? Well I am sorry about the way things worked out. And I miss you, I do…but I'm not ready. You made a choice and I respect that. So respect me enough to back off, I need space to get on with my life."Sharon chanced a glance, noting the deep bags that'd settled under the Chief's wide eyes. Apparently this break-up was affecting the younger woman beyond her horrific attitude. It appeared she hadn't slept much and her rapidly shrinking frame was a bit troubling to say the least.

"What choice? I didn't make a choice, you weren't talkin' to me and…"

"Brenda, the phone works both ways. I would have answered if you'd called," the brunette deadpanned. Running a hand through her hair, she'd had about enough of this conversation. Besides it being completely inappropriate at work, she'd already wasted a solid 7 hours arguing with Major Crimes and she'd barely begun her preliminary paperwork.

"We can't do this, Chief. I can't do this. I have a lot of work to get done, so perhaps we can revisit this subject at a later date, outside the office."

"Sharon, I love you." The blonde felt the tears pricking. Taking a deep breath, trying to subside the sob threatening to surface, she continued. "Not Fritz, you. We're not gonna get back together, ever, because I'm in love with you. You're the one I want and I'm sorry I went messin' everything up."

"I – I have to go."Sharon practically sprinted out of the murder room, heading upstairs to the safety of her own division.

Back in her office, Sharon allowed the tears to flow freely. Curling up in her chair, knees hugged tightly against her chest, she felt completely overwhelmed. Beyond the blonde's ridiculous antics during this frustrating investigation, she couldn't help but feel like she'd lost her best friend. They'd been through so much together, always silently leaning on the other for support, long before the dating and eventual relationship. After a while, she'd even begun to look forward to the overlap, for the most part. Somehow they'd come full circle, treating the other no better than that infamous evening at St. Catherine's Medical Center. If the brunette was being honest, she couldn't imagine the Chief running back to Fritz – far too much had occurred during the dissolution of their marriage. Between the name calling, threats of misconduct, and general petty behavior on the part of Agent Howard, she knew Brenda wouldn't be willing to throw her hat in for round two. And she'd looked so broken, small, frail even in her office. Like Sharon's slightest rejection would positively break her. Sighing at nothing in particular, the brunette slowly returned her feet to the ground and straightened up in her chair. If Sharon was anything, she was resilient. Break up or not, she'd continue this investigation and maintain her impeccable reputation. She'd revisit this topic, perhaps with a pair of ratty sweatpants, a nice bottle of Pinot Nior, and an incredibly depressing break up movie. 1pm on a Friday afternoon wasn't the time to indulge in self-pity, not when she had work to do. Glancing around for a her favorite pen, the Waterman that she never seemed to tire of, even during long paperwork stints, she was disappointed to find it was nowhere in sight. Rummaging through her top drawers, she failed to locate the writing implement. On a whim, mostly out of sheer frustration (the Captain never misplaced anything), she began rustling through that elusive bottom drawer, the one she'd so lovingly begun to mentally refer to as _'the junk drawer.'_ Sifting through a ridiculous amount of odds and ends (oh god, how long had that bag of Cheetos been collecting dust), she felt the crinkle of tin foil between her fingers. She knew that wrapper well and apparently had forgotten about the secret stash she'd created after a particularly horrifying day when Brenda had run out. Vowing to never experience the Chief at such a sugar low, she'd tucked a few in her bottom drawer, just in case. In that moment, however ridiculous it sounded, things became incredibly clear. Picking up her phone, she dialed the extension that'd become almost second nature when actually using her work landline.

"Chief Johnson," clipped the blonde absent-mindedly, still absorbed in the paperwork currently occupying her desk.

"Hey it's me," the older woman husked.

"I thought you didn't want to talk…"

"Well Brenda Leigh, I didn't. But I found something hiding in my bottom drawer, something I thought you'd enjoy." The Captain's voice sounded almost playful, Brenda couldn't help a small smile. Maybe things were looking up, just a bit.

"I'll be right down." Brenda tripped her way up to FID's floor 20 minutes later, cursing the elevator for not traveling at lightning speed. Smoothing her hair and adjusting her skirt, mostly out of habit, she knocked on Sharon's door.

"Come in," responded the brunette, quickly signing her name on the last page of her initial report.

"Hey." Brenda nervously entered, gently closing the door as to not disturb Sharon too much. Chancing a glance, she saw the older woman look up, playful smirk spreading across her face.

"Come here, Brenda Leigh." Sharon motioned for the blonde to come closer, allowing her to lightly perch on the older woman's lap. Almost immediately Brenda curled in, bringing her head to rest in the crook of the brunette's neck.

"I'm sorry baby, I'm sorry for everything…" The blonde blinked back a few tears, swipping furiously at her face but refusing to move from their current position.

"Shhh, I'm sorry too. Next time I'll try talking instead of shutting you out. Sometimes you're just so infuriating…" Sharon lightly brushed the younger woman's sides, knowing how ticklish she was, attempting to lighten the mood. She was rewarded with an adorable giggle and a quick nip on her neck. For a few moments they just sat, enjoying the presence of the other, wrapped up in all the things they hadn't yet said.

Finally Brenda brought her head up to face the brunette, lightly grazing their lips together. As Sharon tried to deepen the kiss, the younger woman pulled away.

"You said you had something for me," flirted the blonde, tracing the lapel of Sharon's jacket with the pads of her fingers.

"It seems I did." Sharon opened her bottom drawer and presented the blonde with the foil wrapped cake. Almost immediately, Brenda's eyes widened, her whole face lighting up.

"Did you steal my ding-dongs?"

"You are kidding me," huffed the older woman, clearly more amused then upset at the ridiculous question.

"Well then how'd you know I was out?"

"Lucky guess? Actually I just found this while looking for my pen and…" The blonde wouldn't give her a chance to finish, crashing their lips together for a passionate kiss.

Eventually they separated, the need to breathe outweighing their desire to continue kissing for the rest of the afternoon.

"I love you, Sharon Raydor. Don't forget that, even when I'm yellin' and screamin' and carryin' on. I want you and only you, for as long as you'll let me stick around." Brenda placed a light peck on the brunette's forehead and giggled. "Although sometimes it is kinda fun irritatin' you…"

"I love you too, honey. Now – go finish your case so we can get out of here. How about I make ziti for dinner? And I think I might have a cheesecake in the fridge..."

**A/N: Fun music fact…back in the day (circa late 1990's, most of you were probably still babes), Brand New and Taking Back Sunday's lead singer and singer/guitarist respectively were best friends. Things happened, allegations of girlfriend stealing occurred, fans turned against each other, it was a mess. Even broke up my best friend and I for a brief period (she was on team BN, I was all for TBS…the fight lasted about 10 minutes). While this created some serious animosity in the emo community, it also gave us some incredibly gifts, 'Seventy Times 7' by BN and response song 'There's No 'I' in Team' by TBS. This one-shot came about as the result. Reviews are almost as good as ding-dongs. **


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